Chapter 36
MANDY
Ichecked my watch for what felt like the hundredth time that evening and suppressed a groan. Seven hours. Seven straight hours of putting out fires, and I was running on fumes and sheer willpower.
The florist had delivered the wrong centerpieces—hydrangeas instead of peonies.
I’d spent forty-five minutes on the phone tracking down replacements.
Apparently, ours had ended up at another wedding.
Thankfully, it was a relatively easy fix.
Although both couples were pissed. I told myself once our business got off the ground, this would be one of the problems we could avoid.
In fact, I was already thinking about using this wedding as an example of all the bad things that could happen.
“And this is why you should hire Blackwell Occasions for your next wedding,” I muttered to myself while adjusting a tablecloth.
We were still working out the name of the business. Blackwell Weddings felt very limiting but Occasions felt too vague.
The cake arrived an hour late because the bakery’s van broke down on the freeway.
And then the DJ showed up drunk. The bride’s mother had a meltdown when she realized her ex-husband was bringing his new girlfriend, which led to a seating chart catastrophe that required the diplomatic skills of a UN negotiator.
I was definitely adding that to my resume. I deserved a fucking Nobel Peace Prize.
But now everything was in place. The reception was running smoothly.
The band I had found at the very last minute was actually better than the original DJ.
I was definitely going to talk to them about being one of our preferred vendors.
The cake looked stunning, but the baker was definitely going on my blacklist. Who didn’t have a backup plan for a bum vehicle?
The guests were having a great time. And my bride and groom were happy. That’s what mattered.
I grabbed a bottle of water from the bar and found an empty chair tucked in a corner where I could observe without being in the way.
My feet were screaming in protest after hours in heels, but I had survived.
The bride was radiant, the groom looked happy, and nobody was crying except at the appropriate emotional moments.
I took a long drink of water and let myself relax for the first time all day.
The band finished their current song, and instead of launching into the next one, they paused.
I noticed the lead guitarist conferring with someone off to the side of the stage, but I was too tired to pay much attention.
If any more issues cropped up, I would hook my phone up to the speakers and let my playlist finish out the night.
I was not going to hunt down another DJ or band for the last hour of the reception.
Then a deep, familiar voice came through the speakers.
“Excuse me, is Mandy Carter here?”
My head snapped up so fast I nearly gave myself whiplash. I squinted at the stage, certain I was hallucinating from sheer exhaustion.
But no. That was definitely Briggs standing up there with a microphone in his hand, scanning the crowd.
What the hell was he doing here?
Our eyes met across the reception hall. His face broke into that smile that made my heart skip three beats.
“There she is,” he said into the mic, still looking at me. “This one’s for my wife.”
The opening notes started, and I recognized them immediately. The same song from that video. The one he’d sung to me in Las Vegas while completely wasted. The song I didn’t remember him singing to me but had seen the video proof so I knew it happened.
Wise men say, only fools rush in…
But this time, his voice was clear and steady. No slurring, no off-key enthusiasm. This was Briggs actually singing, and oh my God, he could actually carry a tune when he wasn’t drowning in tequila.
I sat frozen in my chair, my water bottle forgotten in my hand. Around me, the wedding guests had turned to watch, charmed by this unexpected romantic gesture. I heard someone whisper, “That’s Briggs Blackwell,” and someone else respond, “Oh my God, is that really his wife?”
He never took his eyes off me as he sang. The band backed him up perfectly. He must have coordinated with them beforehand. They knew exactly when to come in, when to pull back, supporting his voice without overpowering it.
And when had he arrived? How long had he been at the wedding? I’d been so caught up, I never even noticed him.
But I can’t help falling in love with you...
My vision blurred with tears. This man. This ridiculous, wonderful, infuriating man had flown across the country and crashed a wedding just to sing to me in front of hundreds of people.
When he got to the chorus, several guests started swaying, caught up in the romance of it. I saw the bride clutching her new husband’s arm, both of them watching with huge smiles. Even the bride’s mother, who’d been a nightmare all day, had her hand over her heart.
Take my hand, take my whole life too…
The song ended to thunderous applause. Briggs handed the microphone back to the lead singer, thanked the band, and made his way down from the stage. I met him halfway, weaving through tables of cheering guests.
When we reached each other, I threw my arms around his neck. He caught me, spinning me slightly, and I couldn’t stop laughing.
“What are you doing here?” I managed to get out between laughs and tears.
“Singing to my wife,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
I pulled back just enough to look at his face, then leaned in and smelled his breath. He laughed, understanding immediately what I was checking for.
“Stone cold sober,” he confirmed. “Not a drop of alcohol in me. That was all me up there, embarrassing myself completely willingly.”
“That was amazing,” I said. “You were amazing. I can’t believe you just did that.”
“I can’t believe I just did that either.” He was still holding me, one hand on my waist, the other cupping the back of my head. “But I needed to see you. And I figured if I was going to fly three thousand miles, I might as well make it memorable.”
“Mission accomplished.”
The band started up again, transitioning into a slow song. Briggs took my hand and led me onto the dance floor. I went willingly, even though my feet were killing me, even though I was supposed to be working and this was completely unprofessional.
I didn’t care. My husband was here, and he was holding me, and for the first time in days, everything felt right.
“How long are you here for?” I asked as we swayed together.
“As long as you’ll have me.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“A week,” he said. “I cleared my entire schedule. Delegated all my cases. Adrian and my brothers are covering everything. For the next seven days, I’m all yours. If you want me.”
A week. A whole week with him. I felt like I’d just won the lottery.
And then reality hit.
“I have weddings this weekend,” I said. “Two of them. I can’t cancel.”
“I’ll tag along if you want me to, or I’ll stay out of your way. I don’t care. I just want to be wherever you are.”
The song ended, but we didn’t separate. Another slow song started immediately after, and we kept dancing.
“The bride is looking at us,” I murmured against his chest.
“Is that bad?”
“Probably. I’m supposed to be working, not slow dancing with my husband in the middle of her reception.”
“Want me to let you go?”
“Absolutely not.”
He laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest where my cheek was pressed. “Then we keep dancing.”
We stayed on the floor for three more songs before I finally, reluctantly, pulled away. “I really do need to check on things. Make sure everything’s still running smoothly.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“You don’t have to. Have a drink and sit down. “
“I want to.” He took my hand.
I brought him with me as I checked with the caterers, confirmed the cake-cutting timeline with the venue coordinator, and made sure the photographer was getting all the shots the couple had requested. Briggs stayed quiet, watching me work.
“You’re really good at this,” he said when we had a brief moment alone.
“At what?”
“All of it. Managing chaos. Keeping everyone happy. Making magic happen even when everything’s falling apart.” He squeezed my hand. “I’m in awe of you.”
My heart felt like it was three sizes too big for my chest. “Stop. You’re going to make me cry, and I can’t cry at a wedding unless it’s during the vows.”
“Then I’ll stop. For now.”
The evening wore on. The cake was cut, the bouquet was tossed, and the guests started trickling out. Briggs stayed by my side through all of it, occasionally being recognized and graciously accepting congratulations on our marriage from strangers who’d seen the photos online.
As I was wrapping up final details with the venue staff, the bride and groom found me.
“Mandy,” the bride said, pulling me into a hug. “Thank you so much. Today was perfect.”
“Even with all the complications?” I asked.
“Especially with all the complications.” She pulled back, her eyes shining. “Nothing will ever top having Briggs Blackwell serenade you in the middle of our reception. That was the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen. Our guests are still talking about it.”
“We’re going to be telling that story for years,” the groom added. “The day got off to such a rocky start, but that moment? That made everything worth it.”
“I’m so glad,” I said, meaning it. “Congratulations to both of you.”
After they left, Briggs slipped his arm around my waist. “See? You made their day.”
“You made their day,” I corrected. “I just kept things from completely falling apart.”
“You did a hell of a lot more than that.”
By the time we finally left the venue, it was nearly midnight. I was exhausted, my feet were destroyed, and I probably looked like I’d been through a war zone.
But I was happy. Deliriously, stupidly happy.
I followed Briggs back to my place in the rental car he’d picked up at the airport. I kicked off my heels the second we got inside and collapsed onto the couch with a groan of relief.
“I’m never wearing heels again,” I declared.
“That seems extreme.”
“I’m serious. Flip-flops for every occasion from now on. Weddings, funerals, court appearances. My toes will leave my feet if I try to put them in heels again. “
“That’d be a sight to see.” He laughed and sat down beside me, pulling my feet into his lap. Then, without a word, he started massaging them.
I nearly melted into the cushions. “Oh my God. That feels amazing.”
“You were on your feet all day. This is the least I can do.”
“If you keep doing that, I might actually marry you. For real this time.”
“We’re already married.”
“Then I might stay married to you.”
He grinned at me and kept rubbing.